


The Lieutenant: Rider Connly Halven

by hermitknut



Series: In Messenger Green [3]
Category: Green Rider Series - Kristen Britain
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 07:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: An unexpected visitor brings back memories of the past.





	The Lieutenant: Rider Connly Halven

‘Hey, Connly!’

Connly stopped half way across the entrance hall and turned at the sound of Yates’ voice.

‘We’re going down into town tonight. It’s Fergal’s birthday. You coming?’

Connly grinned.

‘Wouldn’t miss it!’ he said. ‘I’ll be in the office, let me know what time you’re going.’

‘Will do!’

With a nod they parted ways again, and Connly found himself humming as he headed down to the barracks. They could use a good party. The Riders had been busy, there were so many new people and everyone had been back and forth from the keep more than usual – the corps was starting to feel disjointed, less than whole. He made a mental note to talk to Mara about how to encourage people to get to know each other better; the Green Rider Corps was a home-away-from-home for most of its members, and they depended on each other in the absence of family, something especially necessary when your job required spending weeks out on your own in the middle of nowhere. Though paired runs were getting more common, so that was definitely something. Maybe they could arrange some kind of proper mentorship scheme where older Riders took care of newer ones? Worth thinking about.

He did not notice the woman, who had been standing with the group of minstrels in the entrance hall, watch him leave. She had kept her eyes on him from the moment he had responded to his name, taking in his response, his uniform, his face.

~

It was a day later, and Connly was just about to get ready for bed, when there was a knock on his door.

‘Come!’ he called, without turning around.

‘Connly Haven?’ said a voice from the doorway.

Connly froze. Then his training took over and he forced himself to un-stick his throat.

‘It’s _Halven_ , actually,’ he said, feigning a casualness he did not feel. He turned.

The woman in the doorway was broad and fair, with piercing dark-brown eyes. She was watching him closely. Connly raised his eyebrows at her.

‘Yes?’ he asked. ‘Can I help you with something? I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’

She tilted her head on once side.

‘You don’t remember me?’ she said sharply. ‘I suppose it’s been a long time. And my hair has changed colour. Perhaps I really don’t look much like I did when I was small. But I remember you. You’re just a taller version of the Connly I remember.’

The desire to run collided with the desire to force her out of the room; Connly held himself still. She did not appear to be a physical threat, which meant it would be much easier to handle this by talking. Even though he hated the very idea of it.

He let out a long breath, trying to force the tension to dissipate.

‘I can’t talk here,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m working. If you want to talk, I’ll meet you at the Golden Corn Inn, on Westgate Street. Tomorrow night, if you’re still in town.’

The Golden Corn Inn sold bad ale for high prices, and none of the other Riders would be there.

The woman eyed him consideringly, and then shrugged.

‘Suit yourself,’ she said. ‘Eighth bell?’

‘Ninth,’ Connly said.

‘Fine.’

She paused a moment longer in the doorway, and then obviously decided not to push it further. When she had left, Connly closed the door behind her, he found himself sliding gently down the door to sit on the floor against it. He closed his eyes.

_No, not now. Not ever. Not fair._

He almost laughed at that thought. _Not fair._ It was so childish, but it was exactly how he felt. He had worked so hard here. Here was good, here he was a capable Green Rider, a respected lieutenant. Respected and respectable. He had friends, real friends.

_Friends who will understand if everything comes out_ , he told himself. He knew it was true. But that didn’t mean he wanted it to happen. He took a steadying breath. Maybe he should have a quick conversation with Captain Mapstone before he went to this stupid meeting.

But it was, wasn’t it? Stupid. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He could handle this on his own. He would go. She probably wouldn’t even turn up.

Summoning strength, he got up, and finished getting ready for bed. Then he blew out the candles, and went to sleep.

~

He was running through the marketplace at Corsa. The adults towered over him and paid him little notice. The smell of the food was strong, but he wasn’t headed that way. He wove through the forest of legs; every now and then, spying an easy target, he would slip something out of a pocket or purse, tucking it into his jacket and disappearing without drawing attention. But he wasn’t here to pick pockets, not today. He had something else today.

He got out of the main body of the market and arrowed down the side-streets. The city got duller and grimier as he passed into the more labour-intensive areas, the smells of the tanners and the heat of the blacksmiths and, further on, the sounds of the women calling out prices for deeds no one his age should have understood – all of them wove together into the familiar tapestry of the city.

He turned corner after corner, and the sky seemed to darken as he did so. Until it was full night, and he stopped at the entrance to a back alley, hovering on the corner, peering in.

The smell of blood filled his nostrils.

Connly jerked awake in his bed, reaching without thought for the hilt of a blade that he no longer kept under his pillow.

Great. Just great. That was exactly what he needed, nightmares on top of people who remembered him from Corsa showing up in Sacor City. Who in the five hells _was_ she, anyway?

Well, he knew part of it. Part of it was obvious, given her age and the similarity of her build and colouring to Connly himself. It wasn’t hard to guess. But there had been so many of them, and he couldn’t figure out who she could be – and in that case, how she could remember him well enough to pick him out now, so many years later.

~

The Golden Corn Inn was all that Connly had remembered it to be. He bought himself a flask of over-priced ale and settled himself in at a table in the corner, watching everyone else. He had shed his Rider’s Green, of course, and dressed simply; there was still a chance he would be recognised, however, even here, so he slouched and left his hood up. If anyone asked, he would say he had had a bad day and wanted to sulk somewhere away from people he knew, only to end up reluctantly sharing a table with a stranger. That wasn’t particularly in character for him, but people would forgive it. If it got back to the Rider Corps, he was practically guaranteed tea and sympathy at the barracks. Not that he was planning to explain anything to them.

The woman entered, looking around. She spotted him quickly but made little of it, getting a drink and coming to join him without hesitation.

‘Nice place,’ she said with a good spoonful of sarcasm. ‘You often come here?’

She would know the answer already, but he gave it anyway.

‘Never,’ he said. ‘Now whatever it is you want, get to the point with it. This isn’t a social occasion.’

She narrowed her eyes, and then rolled them in exasperation.

‘I don’t _want_ anything,’ she said. ‘Just realised who you were, thought we could catch up.’

‘We have nothing to catch up over,’ Connly said woodenly. ‘I don’t talk about Corsa. If you want to, that’s your choice.’

‘But how can you –’ at Connly’s frown she lowered her voice ‘– how can you say that? This is a huge part of our lives. And it’s a part we’re forced to conceal –’

‘I don’t see it like that.’

She leaned her elbows on the table and set her chin in her hands.

‘How do you see it, then?’ she asked.

Connly sighed.

‘I am Connly Halven,’ he said simply. ‘I have a good life here, and one that I am proud of. I was lucky. I got the chance to throw away my old life. Forgive me if I’m not leaping for joy at someone _forcing_ me to bring it all back up again.’

His irritation had crept into that last case despite his initial effort. He bit back any further words and waited for her response.

‘Connly, you can’t run away from it,’ she said, her expression almost pitying. He felt his irritation rise, and wondered what her reaction would be if he poured his drink over her and walked out. It was tempting.

‘Clearly, you’ve not been trying hard enough,’ he said, his voice clipped. Now it was her turn to frown.

‘Why should I have to?’ she countered. ‘It’s a part of my life.’

‘But you do keep it to yourself.’

‘Of course I do. I’m not stupid, but other people so often are.’

‘You talk as though we should be proud of who our father was.’

There, it was out there. Now he had said it aloud. She didn’t even blink.

‘Well, obviously not. But we’re still a family. And we have the right to be proud of ourselves.’

‘I _am_ proud of myself,’ Connly said, meeting her eyes. ‘I am proud of who I have made of myself. What I was before wasn’t _me_ – it was what was convenient to _him_.’

He stood, and made to leave, but she caught the sleeve of his jacket as he passed, her expression urgent.

‘Don’t you even want to know my name? It’s Cara. I was Cara. Do you remember me now?’

Connly shook her off, and walked out into the night.

~

He did remember her, now.

Lying awake in his room, he flicked through his old memories with wariness and reluctance.

_Cara_.

She had been one of the little ones – fortunate then, not grown old enough before the trial to be put to use the way most of the girls were. Connly remembered a chubby-faced six-year-old, one of the handful who lived at the Ink and Feather. He had been older, of course, and often visited, handing out sweets and little pocket toys when he had had the coin for them.

He had stopped thinking about them after the trial. Had given up thinking of anyone but himself. Until he had made it here, to Sacor City.

Corlin Haven had been the most infamous criminal in Corsa. He had had dozens of people under his command, and a finger in every illegal pie in the city – protection money, blackmail, theft, murder. And he had liked his women.

_Mister Haven knows a nice lady when he sees her_ , ran the phrase. Which did, inevitably, mean that there were a high number of consequences running about the city.

_The Haven kids._

It wasn’t always clear who was a Haven kid and who wasn’t – the phrase was often used to refer to any of the street kids who pick-pocketed their way out of starvation, or kept watch while their older siblings made threats for the boss. But if you were one, you knew.

Connly had been eleven when the Haven operation had been dragged into the light. Quite the triumph for Lord L’Petrie. _Mister_ Haven (and he was always Mister Haven, never “father”) and most of his high-ranking people had been convicted of murder, among other things, and hanged. Which had left the matter of the dozen or so Haven kids to deal with. Clearly these children were just disasters waiting to happen, ran the common thought. It was publically known that the children had been part of all sides of the operation – climbing through windows too small for adults so that they could let the thieves in the front door, picking pockets and delivering threats – but the law forbad the hanging of anyone under sixteen. More than that, Connly had been told – anyone under fourteen was not considered responsible for crimes they had committed. He had never known this before, the certainty of being hanged by the authorities being a common threat within the Haven group if any child got whiny.

So Lord L’Petrie ordered that the children be given homes with generous families after the trial – _a chance to start again_. And maybe it had been for some of the others. Connly hoped so. It hadn’t worked for him. They had known who he was, and soon so had the whole street. He had been spat at on the way to the little schoolhouse, with his foster siblings. The family had tried to give him back his missing childhood by treating him like a much younger child, and he had resented it. As frightening as his work for Mister Haven had been, he missed the power of independence that had come with it.

Six months after the hanging, Connly Haven ran away from home. After trading pick-pocketed coin for safe travel with a merchant caravan, he ended up in Sacor City. And somehow, following a call he didn’t realise he had heard, right into Captain Mapstone’s office, where she’d caught him trying to break into her cabinet.

To his shock, she had not got him in trouble. Instead, she sat there and asked question after question, until she had who he was and where he had come from. He knew now that she had probably been using her ability. She had let him at the brooches and he had grabbed his without understanding. Then she had talked him through how the Green Rider Corps worked, and what exactly was meant by the term _corps orphan_.

And that was what he had become.

The Green Rider Corps had a small amount of money in place to support those few people who were Called before they were old enough to serve. They would be given a room in the barracks and a small allowance, as well as training in the required skills. You had to be fourteen to go out on a Ride with an older Rider. You had to be sixteen to go out alone.

Twenty years later, here he was – Lieutenant Rider Connly Halven, who rarely used his (slightly altered) surname. A reliable face in the Green Rider Corps. Someone many of the younger Riders looked up to. And no one – unless Mara had seen it in the records – aside from Captain Mapstone knew how he had started out. He was just Connly. And to the rest of the Riders, who rarely stayed more than four of five years, he had always been there.

Reluctantly, he returned his thoughts to Cara. She had been dressed well – not rich, but comfortable. She had a life, and a way of going through it. And either it worked for her, or it didn’t – and if it didn’t, it was her responsibility to change it. He didn’t owe her anything. Certainly not a sleepless night.

~

In the morning he woke early to a silent barracks. A rare moment. He lay there for a few minutes, going through his task-list for the day. There were three Riders going out. A few miles of paperwork. A meeting about supplies. All ordinary, everyday things.

_Cara_.

He found that he knew what to do, now. He didn’t intend for them to have any real contact after this, but he wanted to make sure they separated on slightly better terms. Not least because then he wouldn’t worry about her appearing out of nowhere again.

He got up, got dressed, and got to work.

Two hours later he had seen off two Riders and made a good start on the paperwork, and found out all he had needed to know about Miss Cara Hart. She was a minstrel, one of a group who had been invited to play in the winter festivities – for the servants, rather than for the nobility, but a good invitation to have nevertheless. They had arrived the morning before last and were due to stay for another three days. Plenty of time.

He took the next day and a half to think over his plan. He wanted to get it right.

When the minstrels headed out after their rehearsal, planning to stroll into town as they always did before the evening’s festivities, Connly was waiting by the main gate. He caught Cara’s eye, and she raised an eyebrow. He nodded.

She fell back from the others, telling them she would catch up later. Instead, she walked down the road with Connly.

It felt odd, walking with her like this, where anyone could see them and ask questions. But Connly was over the shock of it now, and his confidence had returned. Questions might be asked. He might answer them, or he might not. He could do whichever he wanted to. In the long run, it wouldn’t matter too much. His place here was certain.

‘So, did pull your head out of your backside?’ she said sharply.

Connly gave a short laugh.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Depends on your opinion. But I’m not so angry as I was before.’

‘Seemed more like _scared_ to me,’ Cara countered.

Connly shrugged.

‘As you like,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to talk to you once more before you went. I’m sorry our conversation went so badly. I wasn’t expecting to have all this old stuff brought up, and I reacted… poorly.’

He was oddly conscious of his Sacor City accent as he spoke, feeling some of his vowels dip into the more western tone of Corsa and then shift back again.

‘Apology accepted,’ Cara said, though she still sounded cool. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

‘You were right,’ Connly said. ‘And so was I.’

She shot him a confused look.

‘Oh?’

‘What I mean is, it’s not a case of you being wrong and me being right, or vice versa. We’re different people, and we’re dealing with things in different ways. Ways that work for us, even if perhaps they don’t work for anyone else.’

Cara appeared to think about this, and then gave a reluctant nod.

‘I suppose,’ she said.

‘Look,’ Connly said. ‘I respect that you want to be able to talk about things. I hope you can find people you can be honest with, and that it goes well for you. But I’m not one of those people. And I hope that you can respect that too.’

‘And never speak to or about you again?’ she asked, some of her former sharpness back in her voice. ‘You still want to disappear.’

Connly shrugged.

‘It’s my life,’ he said quietly.

They walked in silence for a minute or so more. Then Cara heaved a sigh.

‘I suppose I understand,’ she said. ‘I don’t like it. But okay. The least we can do – all of us – is stick together, right?’

Her tone was flippant, but Connly knew she was recalling how they had stuck together as children – whispering about which adults were safe and which were not, which streets to avoid and which stall owners looked the other way if you were small. He nodded.

‘The least we can do,’ he said softly.

She stopped.

‘Well, then I suppose it was nice to meet you, total stranger that you were,’ she said with a straight face. Connly laughed.

‘And you,’ he said. ‘Have a nice life.’

‘Likewise.’

They parted ways, and Connly headed back up into the keep. He whistled to himself as he walked, feeling at peace for the first time in a few days. Maybe he’d tell one of the others about it, maybe he wouldn’t. But he knew now that he could handle it either way.

And that was a thing worth knowing.


End file.
